John E. Smith P.O. Box 7762 Port St. Lucie, FL 34985-7762
THE TRUCKHAWK TRUCKER
A "truckhawk" is a gay man who is sexually attracted to truck drivers, especially the transcontinental kind who drive those massive eighteen-wheel tractor-trailor rigs that roar past us at high speed on the interstate highways. Just as some gay men have a fetish for sailors, marines, bikers, cowboys, firemen, or I guess, any other easily identifiable stereotypical occupational group, (I even had a friend who was a Roman Catholic who specialized in Protestant ministers) a truckhawk specializes in truckers. Somehow, the mystique that attracts truckhawks is the myth that truckers are hard-ridin', fast-fuckin', western-boot wearin', country-music lovin', knights of the open road, who are often away from home for long periods of time, away from normal sexual relief by wife or girlfriend, and are perpetually horny, perhaps because their prostates are being continuously pounded by the hard-bouncing truck seat, so that they have an overpoweringly uncontrolable need to seek frequent release from sexual tension wherever they can find it, even from a gay guy's eager mouth or ass, in a rest-area toilet, a truck-stop men's room, or the handy little bed that many of them have in the back of their cab.
I can report with authority that part of the trucker mystique is true. I am a trucker, and I am always horny. On the road, I could come off three or four times a day and still build up a head of sexual steam bouncing along the highway in the cab of my Peterbuilt truck.
And, it was this horniness that led me to join the ranks of the Legion of Truckhawks. As some of the older truckhawks used to say, "This year's trade is next years competition." And, they were right. I started out just "feeding my cock to the queers," as the truckers say, letting gay guys suck my cock in the rest-area toilets along the Interstates.
I never had any trouble getting someone to suck my cock for me because I have been told that I am a good-looking trucker. I am now in my mid thirties, but when I started, I was in my mid- twenties, 6' 3", 220 muscular pounds, well-built because I played football and wrestled in high school, and I still keep myself in good shape, exercising at a gym when I can. I have a few tattoos up my arms, and I have a big, nine-inch uncircumcised cock. I've been told that I am handsome, in a rugged sort of way, and I have a big black moustache like Tom Selleck of Magnum PI fame. Anyway, I never had any trouble finding a cocksucker who wanted to suck my cock for me any time of the day or night.
Then, as time went on, I began to notice the cocks of other truckers as they stood at the open- trough urinals in some of the rural rest stops. I began to wonder what it would feel like to kneel in front of another trucker's fly, take his cock in my mouth and suck it, to giving him as much pleasure as the gays who sucked my cock had given me. I wondered what it would feel like to sublimate my sexual needs in the service of another man.
I'll never forget the first time I tried it. It was night and I was pissing in one of those open troughs in a rest area in South Carolina, when a big beautiful black trucker came in, who, I found out later, was hauling watermelons to New York City. Well, there were no electric lights in this countrified pissoir. It was dark, but enough light from a bright, full moon, filtered in through the windows so that I could see this black trucker haul out the biggest hank of black uncircumcized trucker manmeat that I had ever seen. He pissed a horse-strong stream for the longest time, playing, as little kids do, with pissing on things in the bottom of the trough, washing them toward the drain hole. He finished pissing his last few spurts, stripped down that big black firehose several times. When he did this, I could see that that black snake stretched out to at least a foot in front of his body, an indication of how big his cock would get when it was hard.
Then, I saw his hand slowly begin to stroke his charcoal log with a rhythmical stroke. As they used to say when I was in the Army, "Shake it more than twice and you're playing with it." There could be no doubt about it, that big black stud was looking right at me and playing with his cock, communicating subliminally, with his eyes, without a word being spoken, that he wanted me to suck that big black Motherfucker for him.
I took the plunge. I went over to where he was standing at the urinal; even as tall as I am, he towered over me. He turned toward me, sideways to the trough, still stroking that immense piece of black trucker cockmeat that was getting bigger by the minute. It was then that I decided that I must have been born to the truckhawk priesthood because I knelt willingly, fingering the Levi altercloth. He was so tall that when I knelt, my mouth barely came up to the level of the alter with its proffered sacrimental chalice. I took the chalice in my hands, gently peeled back the covering napkin, put the chalice to my lips, and savored the musky odor of black trucker uncircumcised cock, that had been on the road without bathing for several days, as if it were thrice-blessed sacrimental wine. As his cock got harder and harder, I tongued and licked and gently bit off all the smegma that was caught behind the corona of his cock under his foreskin, savoring the odor as if it were rare Limburger cheese.
After completing this lingual ablution of his cock, during which time it got fully hard and expanded to its magnificent proportions, I took it into my mouth. Of course, this first experience took place before the time of AIDS, when it was safe to suck cocks without fear of contracting a fatal disease. In this day and age, I would never practice this kind of unsafe sex. Even though I dislike the taste of rubber, I've found some mint-flavored condoms that don't taste too bad; but, this ebony stallion would have required a black condom made for elephants, preferable licorice flavored, making it a licorice stick worthy of the Guiness Book of Records and a veritable all-day sucker.
I took that bloated black babymaker into my mouth as far as as I could and I began to wonder, when it hit my epiglottus with barely the head in my mouth, if I hadn't, you'll pardon the expression, bitten off more than I could chew. Maybe it would have been wiser of me to Christen my virgin mouth with a love muscle of more normal proportions. Maybe I was trying to scale Mt. Everest with my first Boy Scout hike. These thoughts of self-doubt raced through my mind as I considered backing out, as I was sure others had done, when confronted with that King Kong dong. However, these thoughts were balanced, by the sexual excitement this trucker caused in me, a sexual excitement that was great enough to make me kneel before his regal presence in the first place, as if he were an African king who held his royal status because of the size of the flesh scepter, that symbol of primitive power, that he carried between his legs. Here was a presence worthy of my virginity, for no smaller cock, even though it might have been easier to learn on, no specimen of kingly negro-trucker beauty less spectacular than he was, could have caused me to submit shamelessly to serving him, could have caused me to surrender the use of my body to him for his carnal needs, could have induced me to sacrifice my ego on the alter of his id.
His deep-bass voice, reverbrating against the hard, tiled walls of the toilet, as regal-sounding as Paul Robeson playing the role of Otello in Otello the Black Moor, roused me from my ruminations. "Hey, cocksuckah, ain't y'all done this afore? Get tah work on that black Motherfuckah, cuz ah ain't got all naht. Ah's gots to get ma black ass uptah DC 'for dawn."
He must have sensed that I was inexperienced because, in addition to challenging my experience, as he had, he began to take a more active role in our activities. He began to make love to me with those big Smithfield hams that he had for hands, relaxing me so that I could service him properly and, with his hands, he began to guide the motions of my head. He caressed my face and head with his hands, lovingly running his fingers through my curly brown hair, so different from the close-cropped crown of kinky black hair he wore on his head and the bristly-scratchy patch of Brillo that decorated the love jungle at the base of his black baton d'amour, his schwartz schwantz, like black tulips from Holland blooming in the Spring around the base of the Eifel Tower, celebrating fertility and the renaissance of life after a long, bleak winter.
He tickled my ears, cheeks, and neck with his finger tips, sending chills through my body and firing me with the flame of passionate ardor that made me resolve that to satisfy this big, black trucker, I would become a "quick cram" student in his school of sensual delights, I would recall all of the magnificent blow jobs that I had had before in my life, and I would try to emulate the technique that those cocksuckers had used so skillfully to satisfy my sexual needs.
Then, with one of his hands behind my head, he took his cock out of my mouth, held by his other hand, and ran the wrinkled tip of his foreskin, still wet with my spit, around my lips and my cheeks. I tried to follow the head of his cock with my mouth so that I could get his cock back into my mouth again, but he was too fast for me. His cock was always just a little ahead of me, teasing me, challenging me to catch up with the snotty end of his big, black love muscle, that left slimy tracks on my face like the precoital fluid of a herd of horny snails racing to get to a snail orgy.
Then holding my head in both hands, he held my head so that his blind-eyed cyclops waved up and down in from of me like the baton of Eugene Ormandy conductor Philadelphia orchestra playing Tchaikowski's 1812 Overture and I could just tantilizingly titillate the puckered tip of his foreskin with the tip of my tongue as it waved past my tongue. Little by little he moved his hips closer and closer to me so that, like a dog wrapping his tongue around the icecream on an icecream cone, I could lap more and more of the salty, skin-covered head of his love wurst, laving it lovingly with my dick-tickling tongue. Still holding my head firmly in his hands, he moved his hips so that just the head of his cock was fucking in and out of my mouth, skinning back the foreskin of his dipstick against my lips as he shoved it in, and replacing the fleshy cowl over the naked head with my lips as he withdrew. Each time it was in my mouth, I could swish my tongue rapidly around the naked, blood-engorged head of his mating tool several times before it retreated to my lips and all I could reach with my tongue were the pouty little vertical lips of his piss slit, hiding in the loose folds of his foreskin like the pistil of a flower, rewarding me, like a busy little bee, with the sweet nectar of his viscous honey-like precoital fluid.
Then, pulling back the sausage skin from his love wurst cock with the finger tips of one hand (they smelled like cigarettes as they passed under my nose) he stretched his black foreskin back along the shaft of his cock and plunged the bloated head of his ramrod deeply into my cunt-throat, quickly withdrawing it, only to immediately plunge it deeply again, and again. This brutal assult on my epiglottus made me gag, and, when I did, he gave me a real cram-course on cock sucking. He took advantage of the fact that my cunt-throat was wide open and rammed his rampaging battering ram deep into my open gullet, where, involuntarily I swallowed hard to keep from wretching, and, in about three seconds flat, I learned to hold my breath, open my throat and allow him to plunge the full length of his meaty fuck-rod deep into my throat like a sword swallower in a circus performing for an appreciative crowd. I know that his teaching me to deep-throat cock this way was like throwing a child off the end of a pier to teach him to swim, but it worked. I was now massaging the meaty head of his mating tool with the muscles of my throat, anticipating his motions so that I could control my breathing to synchronize the motions of my throat and mouth to the rhythm of his fucking.
My mastery of this technique seemed to please him because he moaned, "YYYYEEEEHHHH, man, take all uh dat big Motherfuckin' black dick. . . . Take it!" he grunted as he savagely held my head and ruthlessly plunged that immense hot sword of black flesh into my cunt-throat all the way to the hilt, so that his rough pubic hair scratched my nose as it bumped against his belly and his billiard-sized balls played batball with my chin. He continued to delight in my new-found skills, ravaging my cunt-throat with his maurading manmeat, pausing with it all the way in my throat, as he massaged my throat, feeling his pounding lust-shaft swell my neck as he plunged it mercilessly into my willingly receptive thoat, opened eagerly to receive him.
He had taught me subverbally, without a word of instruction between us, to pay the tune he wanted me to playt on his skinflute, to be a willingly receptive truckhawk recepticle for his black trucker manmeat, he took advantage of my proficiency. He allowed himself to sink to the level of an animal, fucking like a dog, automatically, with no thought of masterful technique, with no thought of anything in his mind except dumping his overloaded balls into my eagerly-awaiting cunt-throat. Now he fucked my throat frantically like a maniac possessed by a demon driving his libido at a breakneck pace like a drag racer speeding toward the finish line, accelerating faster and faster until, "UUUUGGGGHHHH," I heard him moan as his reflexes took over, he plunged his bursting cock deeply into my throat, as his hands held my head impaled on his lovespear, and his spastic prostate propelled pulse after pulse of his black, baby-loaded semen deep into my eagerly awaiting gullet.
"Whew! That was wild, man," I said.
"Yeh! Y' sure did pleasure m' Johnson," he said, as he stuffed his mammoth, black, still-bloated Johnson, back into his Levis, zipped up his fly and headed back to his New York bound truckload of watermelons, his balls relieved of their unwelcome burden of unwanted semen. Even though he had brilliantly initiated me into the Fraturnity of Truckhawks, we parted without even exchanging names, secure in the anonymity of casual sex, that before AIDS, was enjoyed by truckers and truckhawks alike.